put down your arms and wrap them both around me
by The Lady Avaritia
Summary: My world is cold and black. Post-Reichenbach John does not grieve. Or does he?


_put down your arms and wrap them both around me_

My world is cold and black.

_-hands, lips, tongues, skin on skin, bone like complexion and your own sun-kissed flesh, your hips fit together so perfectly, you grasp, you clutch, you press yourself closer to him, he is so skinny all sharp edges and graceful chiselled curves and you are so much stronger, overpowering, he needs your protection and you need him-_

But that was then and this is now, and you don't need anyone anymore. You are fine on your own (forever alone), you are perfect on your own. You don't need him, not like this, not anymore. Not when you can take each breath in and then slowly exhale it without remembering the dark silk of his hair and his ice blue eyes. You breathe on your own now.

_-his sweet kisses, his hands on your thin waist, you nestled against his chest, and his heart beats _ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum_, he is warm and real and oh-so-human, and you love him so much it hurts, you need him so much you might break, and does that make you __just plain pathetic__?-_

No. Because you're not like that anymore. You don't need him, not now, and not anymore, never anymore, especially not like this.

Sarah, Sarah was a chellenge, a test to see is you could… if the war had damaged you too much… But Sherlock… Sherlock was completely impossible. Like dove the flies out of a dark coat, a pink coated phone disappearing in a apocket, an ashtray from Buckingham palace glowing in the morning air… Sherlock the illusion. It's kind of fitting. You never were sure what you were seeing when he was around.

And Sherlock always saw enough for the both of your anyway.

_-your body on his, your hot breath on the graceful column of his neck, your hands roaming his paper thin skin, and yes, this is perfect, oh, so perfect, you fit together so well, like broken puzzle pieces, and you are both so frantic, you clutch at bed sheets and pillows, and he leaves his fingerprints on the crime scene in the shape of purple and blue bruises on your hips and then you reach bliss, and your world is white washed and fragmented -_

But you are happy now. You are free from him and his hands and his poisonous words, trying to convince you that you need him, how dare he, the nerve? How dare he waltx his way into your life, settle like he's always belonged where he has no place, how dare he?

But no. you are alright now. You are not like him, and you will not fall. You are not like him, you're an empty little creature, how boring must it be in your mind?

_-not boring at all. Every thought is punctired by the bitterweet tinge of his memory. Oh how you hate him for it!-_

But you are better than that, better than him, and you do not need anyone to save you (not now, not anymore). And so Sherlock, how dare he attempt to convince you otherwise, how dare he? With his butterfly kisses and his soft touches and … how dare he?

So you stand in front of him, and he is dead, and you are alone, you are oh, so alone, there's no one to spoil your milk now, no one to shoot at walls and scare your girlfriends away, and no misterious brothers in black unmarked cars after you, and your shower is clean of cow guts and isn't that so much better?

-_And you look at that body, hands that used to touch you so gently, and lips that left small love bites on your__ rough__ skin and his __beautiful dark hair, like a raven's wing__, now matted with blood__, thick red and disgustingly cloying__, and how dare he, how dare he? THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH YOU! you don't need him anymore, you breathe alone-_

And you don't know how or why, but _how dare he?_ Turns into _I'm so sorry_, and then into _I love you_ and _I need you _but you don't need him, you don't need anyone, like him and you know, you know, you know that needing someone, that being human leads down only one path. He told you that, he taught you that and you'll be damned if you haven't learned your lesson.

_-have you ever wondered if there's something wrong with us?-_

You don't need him anymore. You never needed him in the first place. And if you say it enough times, you may even believe your own futile lies.


End file.
